CHAPTER III

THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE Sitting in the garden of the little Hertfordshire inn, Anthony drafted his application with the utmost care. All the time he tried to keep a tight hand upon his hopes—unruly and mettlesome fellows, which more than once had carried him into the meadow of Expectation before he knew where he was. There the going was splendid—till you came to the sunk fence.... His letter, when finally settled, was comprehensive enough. _c/o “The Leather Bottel.”_ …